


talking to what's left of you (and watching what I say)

by supras



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Abortion, Angst, Canon Compliant, Discussion of Abortion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, Mpreg, Post Mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 16:58:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1751978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supras/pseuds/supras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m pregnant,” Harry finally breathes out, and Zayn feels the world slow down around them. Whatever he was expecting, this isn't it. </p><p>“Is this a good thing?” he asks slowly, carefully, even though he already knows the answer deep down in the aching pit of his stomach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	talking to what's left of you (and watching what I say)

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: discussion of abortion, abortion, aftermath of abortion, mpreg, emotional trauma. 
> 
> If any of these things bother you, please stop reading now. This is an AU in which male pregnancy, though uncommon, is not unheard of. This is also obviously fiction and I don't know of the boys' actual opinions on this matter. 
> 
> (Side note, this was originally written with Niall in Zayn's place and I couldn't handle it, so here we are.)
> 
> This will get worse before it gets better. 
> 
> Title from Matt Nathanson's 'Bulletproof Weeks.'

Something’s going on with Harry, Zayn is certain of it. He’s acting like himself, telling stupid knock knock jokes and gyrating his hips, skipping across the stage like he always does. But there’s a hesitancy to his movements, an edge to his voice, and Zayn knows he’s putting on a show.

Liam and Louis know it too, trying to pull Harry aside during the occasional lulls between songs and ask what’s up. Harry merely shakes his head and forces a smile, dancing away from them or moving to sit on Niall’s other side. Because Niall, as he usually is on stage, is distracted by the crowd and oblivious to what’s going on with the other four. Zayn watches as Harry now presses himself into Niall’s side, just for a moment before darting to the other side of the stage and hauling himself onto a railing. There’s an odd pallor to his skin as well, with a tightness in his mouth that isn’t usually there a month into tour but has been for several weeks now. He’s the one who always bears it the best, even whilst the rest of them are exhausted. He wavers then, legs going wobbly on the metal rail. Zayn’s breath catches in his throat when Harry nearly pitches forward into the crowd. Harry catches himself at the last possible second, playing it off to the screaming girls as his general klutziness, but the brief look of fear that passes through his eyes tells a different story. There’s clumsiness and a lack of spatial awareness, and that was neither. When Zayn looks quickly to the others, it’s Liam who meets his worried gaze with one of his own, the only one who’d seen.

It’s also Liam who manages to corner Harry as they come off stage a few minutes later after taking the final bows of the encore. Zayn can’t hear what Liam asks him over the noise of the crew as everyone already springs into action, getting everything reset for tomorrow night's show. He sees Harry’s mouth quirk up into a smile that isn’t entirely reassuring, clapping Liam on the shoulder with a few murmured words. Liam nods, but Zayn can tell from the way his lips are pressed together he knows he’s been lied to and doesn’t want to push it.

There aren’t secrets in this band, but. If Harry wants this, they will let him have it. They’ve all earned at least that much.

With press in the morning and a second show tomorrow night, it’s a hotel night and Zayn is looking forward to collapsing face first into his bed after spending last night on the bus. He’s already rung both Perrie and his mum before dinner to check in, ask how the wedding plans are going and promise he hasn’t run out of clean underwear yet. Paul hands the room keys round when they reach the floor they’ve booked out, Niall and Zayn to one end of the corridor, then Louis, Liam, and Harry to the other, though Louis, Liam, and Niall are making plans for pizza and video games.

“Sure you don’t want to play?” Louis asks of Zayn and Harry and they both shake their heads before a group hug and going their own separate ways.

Zayn’s room looks like all the others he’s seen over the past few years, with a king bed off to one side, a small sitting area off to the other. Cold and functional. He drops his bags on the floor next to the door, toes his shoes off beside them, and goes through his bedtime routine: sets his phone up on the charger he plugs in next to the bed, has a quick shower to rinse away the sweat from the show, then tugs on a pair of old joggers he’s not sure are clean or dirty.

His body is set alight as it sinks into the mattress, pressure coming off his joints. He hisses on the inhale and bites down hard on his lower lip, waiting for the pain to turn into a dull throb as it always does.

Before it can there’s a knock on the door.

“What?” he calls sharply. It’s late.

“It’s me,” Harry’s voice says, muffled by the wood between them.

Zayn swings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands as quickly as he can, crossing the room in only a handful of strides before he’s opening the door.

Harry stands awkwardly in the hallway, even for him, hands shoved into the pockets of a pair of black mesh shorts Zayn is almost sure belong to Liam. Zayn steps back without a word, opening the door wider to let him in, and Harry darts inside. He’s already settling himself into the bed before Zayn has fully closed the door again. Zayn climbs back in beside him and opens his arms to let Harry settle into them with his own wrapped around Zayn’s waist, head on his shoulder.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on or is this going to be a silent cuddle?” Zayn asks and drops a kiss to the top of Harry’s curls. He doesn’t mind either way; both have happened plenty of times. Sometimes Harry needs to talk, and sometimes Harry just needs someone whose shoulder he can bury his face in and breathe.

Harry doesn’t say anything for a few long moments, just turns his head into Zayn’s neck as Zayn rubs his back.

“I’m pregnant,” he finally breathes out, and Zayn feels the world slow down around them.

Whatever he was expecting, this wasn’t it. Harry’s the most careful of all of them, has always had to be because of his sexuality and the fear of someone ever finding out. He trusts very few people and is always discreet to a level Zayn has never been able to manage and selfishly envies. It makes sense though - the past few weeks of Harry excusing himself from breakfast and looking queasy and pale. He’d chalked it up to the stress of tour, but.

“Is this a good thing?” he asks slowly, carefully, even though he already knows the answer deep down in the aching pit of his stomach.

“No.”

Harry chokes on the word, the one simple word, and begins to sob like Zayn has never seen him do before. Zayn pulls him in closer, arms tightening as he keeps him upright.

“I don’t know what to do,” Harry whimpers through the tears. “I don’t know where to look or who to ask or how to go about it or-”

He breaks off, collapsing into full sobs again, shoulders shaking.

Zayn holds him for what feels like hours, murmuring soothing words like “it’s going to be okay,” and “I’m right here,” as his own head spins with questions. How far gone is he? When did this happen? How long has he known and been keeping it to himself? Who’s the father? All the things he wants to ask, but isn’t his business to know unless Harry wants him to. There’s one thing though, one thing he has to be sure of.

“I want to help you, I’m going to help you no matter what, but Harry, I need you to tell me why, okay? I need you to hear yourself say it,” Zayn says when Harry’s quieted down to sniffles with his forehead still pressed to Zayn’s neck. “You get stuck in your head, and I want you to be absolutely sure.”

Harry nods and shifts so he’s sitting up in the circle of Zayn’s arms, eyes puffy and rimmed with red. He wipes his nose with the sleeve of his jumper pulled over his fingers before he speaks shakily.

“I’m too young, I can’t give it what it needs. We’re in the middle of a world tour and already have another one planned, and I can’t bring a child into this, I’m not like Lou with Lux. And Nick doesn’t even want kids, certainly not with me.”

Fucking Grimshaw, Zayn should have known. His hands involuntarily clench into fists and he forces them to relax before Harry notices.

“You could do it on your own, well not on your own, you’d have the lads and your family, but Grim needn't know,” he points out. He’s not trying to talk him out of it, but through it. “You’d have help.”

Harry shakes his head.

“I know that, but.” He pauses, takes a deep breath. “I can’t bring a child into this crucible.”

He says it like a swear and that’s when Zayn understands, suddenly, like a punch to the gut.

It’s more than not wanting to expose a child to their world, which isn’t as shiny and perfect as people want to believe. There’s a reason Harry has had to be more careful - he’s always been more in the spotlight than the others, his photograph and name splashed across the fronts of magazines that shout of his supposed exploits. On the surface it sounds selfish, choosing this because he can’t handle everything that comes with fame either, but how good of a father would he be feeling the way he does?

“If only it were a few years later,” Harry whispers, voice breaking. “An abortion is really it.”

“I know, Haz,” Zayn sighs and thumbs away the tears that begin to flow again, silently this time. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow, okay? You need to get some sleep.”

Harry swallows hard, but nods and lets Zayn to carefully ease him down until his head is on the pillow. Zayn lays down too and Harry presses into his side.

“Why did you come to me, though?” he asks quietly, the one question he will allow himself. “Liam even asked -”

Harry gives a broken and watery laugh and Zayn can feel his breath on his neck.

“Liam would want to go to management. Louis would try to talk me out of it. Niall wouldn’t be able to handle it. But you. You always know what to do, and I love you.”

Zayn’s chest tightens and he kisses Harry’s temple.

“Love you too, Haz.”

\--

In the morning, Zayn wakes before his alarm with a mouthful of hair and Harry’s clinging to him like an octopus. The clock on the bedside table reads half six and Zayn carefully untangles himself enough to pick up the phone and order breakfast from room service. He turns off his alarm after he returns the phone to its cradle, then gently rouses Harry by smoothing a hand over his hair.

“Haz, it’s time to get up. I ordered you waffles and you should shower,” he murmurs.

Harry blinks blearily up at him after a few moments of petting, breathing picking up as he wakes.

“Thanks,” he says hoarsely and drags himself out of bed to shuffle to the bathroom.

Breakfast arrives whilst Harry is still in the shower and Zayn munches on some scrambled eggs and toast as he begins to formulate a plan.

No one can know, so he can’t enlist anyone for help, not the other boys or even Paul. It's not that he doesn't trust them, he trusts them with his life, but it isn't his business to tell. He certainly can't call either of their assistants, that's as good as informing management. Harry isn’t showing so he’s obviously not far enough along for that to be an issue, but he doesn’t know how soon Harry wants to do this. They have a full day off without any interviews or appearances in Spain next week, and they’ll have nearly fourteen days off the week after. But once they get back to England, it'll be more difficult to hide. 

Zayn’s finished his breakfast, as much of it as he can stomach anyway, when Harry exits the bathroom with a towel around his waist. He hands him some clothes as all of his own things are in his room across the hall. Harry can change into something more presentable before they're due to leave in an hour. 

“How soon do you want to?” Zayn asks as Harry slips into the joggers and t-shirt.

Harry’s hands hesitate where they’re pushing the bottoms of the sweats up to his knees so they don’t look as small as they are.

“As soon as possible.”

“So… Madrid? If we can manage it? Or do you want to wait until we’re home?”

“No, Madrid is fine,” Harry replies, eyes downcast when Zayn hands him a plate of waffles and strawberries and he sits on the edge of the bed. “The sooner the better, right?”

Zayn’s heart breaks at how utterly small he sounds, exploding in his chest and sharp pieces falling to the very tips of his toes. 

“Okay. I’ll take care of everything.”

\--

And Zayn does, as promised. He finds a private clinic in Madrid that is willing to see Harry after hours, stressing the need for discretion. He has a feeling it isn’t their first time doing things like this, when the receptionist calmly tells him what time they need to arrive and how to access the back entrance. He listens carefully to the pre procedure instructions and then relays them to Harry later that evening when they’re squeezed into his bunk, talking quietly so the other lads don’t overhear.

“Thank you,” Harry whispers for what feels like the hundredth time, squeezing Zayn’s hand. “Really. I couldn’t do this without you.”

Zayn just squeezes back.

\--

Now that Zayn knows what's going on, he's not sure if he'd blind for missing it in the first place, or if Harry's just not trying to hide it from him anymore. 

They're on the bus, Harry sprawled across the floor of the lounge with his eyes closed, taking deep breaths through his nose. Liam and Louis have got a FIFA game going on, and don't even look up when he carefully sits up and walks out, stilted. NIall's eyes follow him, and Zayn gets to his feet. 

"You going to check on him then?" Niall asks, voice laced with concern. 

"Erm, yeah." 

Once the door of the lounge closes and blocks the Playstation, Zayn follows the sound of retching to the little bathroom between the bunks. 

"Haz?" he calls quietly, rapping on the narrow door. 

The door swings open to reveal Harry sitting on the floor, settled against the wall and looking uncomfortable squashed into the corner next to the toilet. 

"I hate this," he mumbles and tucks his knees up to make space so Zayn can step inside the room and close the door behind him. 

"Do you need anything?" Zayn asks, leaning back against the sink. 

"No," Harry replies but and jerks away to puke again. He comes back up with a whimper and a full-body shudder, tilting head so his forehead is resting against Zayn's fingers. 

\--

Harry’s nowhere near okay over the next week, but one look from Zayn keeps even Liam from questioning it. Zayn and Harry don’t talk about it, but Zayn’s there to offer mouthwash and soda crackers since picking them up on a stop after the first incident in the bus toilet. Paul makes a mention to call in a doctor, but Harry insists he's okay. If Zayn were to admit it to anyone - and he won’t, can't - he’s proud of how well Harry’s holding up.

It isn’t until they’re sitting in the clinic’s waiting room after sneaking off with an excuse of going to bed that Harry begins to crumble again. His entire body trembles and Zayn pulls him onto his lap where he's sitting so Harry can press his face into his shoulder.

“Breathe. In and out, love.”

Harry takes a great shuddering breath as the doctor nurse to fetch him for bloodwork and the procedure. His hands tighten on Zayn’s jumper and Zayn kisses his cheek, rubbing a soothing hand over his back.

“I’ll be here when it’s over,” he promises and Harry nods, eyes wide and anxious before standing and leaving the room. The nurse gives Zayn a comforting smile and he wonders if she thinks he’s the other father.

Without Harry to focus on, Zayn looks around. The clinic is warmer than he’d expected, with sofas and armchairs instead of hard plastic chairs, health advice posters mixed with art on the walls. He doesn’t understand the anything they say, though he wishes he did because reading them would be something to do.

He fidgets, itching for a fag but he can’t go outside. If he’s seen here, well.

So he pulls his phone to play flappy bird. It lasts all of five minutes and he hauls himself to his feet to pace around the room.

The minutes tick by agonizingly slowly. An hour, then two passes, and by the time the door opens again, Zayn has played every game on his mobile, read and responded to all his emails, and his fingernails have been chewed to the beds and ache.

“You can come back now,” the nurse tells him quietly and Zayn grabs his jacket from the sofa to follow her. “Most of the sedative has worn off.” She continues to speak, telling him what to look out for, that Harry needs to take it easy for a few days, but he’s only barely listening. He needs to see Harry now.

And then Harry’s in front of him, propped up on an examination table in a hospital gown with a knit blanket over his legs, socked feet poking out the bottom.

Zayn wasn’t prepared for this.

Harry looks shell-shocked, ashen and hunched over like he’s trying to fold in upon himself, arms folded across his middle. He looks up when he notices someone has entered and his face crumples when he sees Zayn standing frozen in the doorway.

“Zayn."

Zayn swallows hard, forces the bile down because this isn’t about him and how he feels sick looking at his best friend. This is about the boy in front of him looking like he’s about to fall to pieces. He stands in between Harry’s knees and tugs him in so Harry can press his face into his chest.

“Can you stand?” he asks after only a moment, his bones urging him to get Harry out of here as soon as possible. He shouldn't be here anymore. “I’ll help you dress and we’ll go back to the hotel.”

“Yeah.”

Zayn helps Harry into his clothes, closing his eyes and biting down hard on his lower lip when Harry whimpers as he bends to pull his pants on, hands instinctively flying to his stomach.

Zayn all but carries him to the SUV waiting for them outside, from the car service he'd hired on his own, and helps him climb inside. 

"Shh," he murmurs and arranges Harry so he's lying across the backseat, his head in his lap. 

Harry doesn’t fall apart until they’re back at the hotel, the door to the room closing behind them. And fall apart he does. He staggers before Zayn can guide him, gasping on a sob as he sinks to the floor next to the bed where sits curled up with his arms around his legs, forehead pressed to his knees. 

“Christ, Hazza,” Zayn chokes out, falling to his knees next to his best friend. "Bed, okay?" 

Harry is dead weight as Zayn hauls him up and settles him on the bed, whimpers punctuating his sobs. He curls up into himself again as soon as he can, arms tight against his abdomen and what isn't there anymore. 

"What have I done?" he cries, and everything Zayn has been fearful of is suddenly happening. A part of him had been hesitant, thinking Harry wasn't making the best choice, but that was it wasn't it? Harry's choice. And it's been made. 

"You did what you needed to do, Haz," he says quietly. He joins him on the bed and Harry ends up with his forehead tucked into Zayn's hip, fingers clutching his thigh. 

"I don't know if I did." 

Harry can barely get the words out through the thickness of his throat. Zayn bites down hard on his bottom lip, jaw aching with the urge to cry, and threads a shaking hand into Harry's hair. 

"It's going to be okay. I promise you, Harry. It's going to be okay." 

Zayn does't know how long they sit like that, him petting Harry's hair and murmuring promises he doesn't know if he can keep but hopes to god he can, and Harry crying himself out. Finally, Harry's sobs begin to quiet into sniffles, and his ragged breaths even out as he falls asleep. Zayn leans down and kisses his hair one last time, wiping the last of his tears from his cheeks. 

He doesn't sleep that night, but stays sitting up in bed with his arm curled protectively around Harry as the other boy sleeps restlessly. He thinks about everything he can but doesn't want to. What happened today, how Harry is going to be when he wakes up, if they're really going to be able to keep this to themselves. 

Zayn stares at the phone on the bedside table when the alarm goes off at half eight. Harry is still asleep beside him, having finally settled sometime around five. He doesn't want to wake him, wants to let him sleep today away, but they've an interview in an hour. So he does what he's done for the past week - silences the alarm, orders room service, and wakes Harry as gently as he can. Harry fights him, struggling to hold onto sleep, and Zayn's heart aches when he as to resort to stealing the duvet. Harry stays curled up into himself, and Zayn lays a hand on his shoulder. 

"Haz, we've an interview. I'm sorry." 

Harry rolls onto his back, stretching out as he opens his eyes. Zayn hears his joints pop painfully after being in the same tense position for so long. 

And Harry says nothing, just blinks up at Zayn for a moment before shakily climbing off the bed and ducking into the bathroom. 

\--

Zayn manages to get Harry dressed and somewhat fed, then down to the vans when Paul comes to fetch them. Harry tries his best to smile, engage with the others, and even Zayn is mostly convinced by the time they've arrived at the interview. Lou tuts when she takes in the sight of the two of them, dark circles under their eyes and Harry's skin still an odd milk colour. She fixes them up and sends them off with a jibe about sleeping properly.

The interview goes as well as Zayn could hope, though he's constantly watching Harry out of the corner of his eye and trying not to be obvious about it. He fails miserably if the looks Niall keeps shooting him are anything to go by, but Zayn ignores him in favour of watching the way Harry's smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. 

\--

By sound check, Zayn can breathe. They're running around as they always do, mucking about in their bare feet, Liam in a hotel robe. Zayn's lying in the middle of the stage on his back with his eyes closed and microphone to his mouth as he sings. He feels the weariness in his bones from thirty-six hours without sleep and stressing over Harry, keeping a closer eye on him than he probably needs to. Harry's been as okay as he could be, relief in his eyes once the initial panic and guilt had ebbed. He still looks pale, though he's flushed now from exertion, only joining in after spending the first two songs sitting on one of the steps. So Zayn let's himself stop worrying for a little while, let's his own relief that Harry seems okay to flood him. 

\--

It's during the show later that it happens. Harry's moving more slowly than normal, than he had been earlier, and even though it could just be the lack of sleep catching up with him, Zayn slides up and slings an arm around his shoulders. 

"You okay?" he murmurs, just loud enough to be heard over Louis singing the opening lines of Right Now. 

Harry nods, but as he does Zayn's arm is pressed more firmly into his skin, and Harry is hot. Zayn runs his fingertips over Harry's warm skin, feeling his pulse beneath the pads of his fingers. 

"You feel feverish. Are you sure you feel okay?" he asks again, brow furrowed. 

"Bit of an ache and a little lightheaded, but I'm exhausted, so really, I'll be fine," Harry says firmly and takes a step sideways as Niall's voice hits the crescendo into the chorus. 

Zayn doesn't flub his cue, but gives Harry a level look and jerks his head for him to sit on the closest riser. He expects him to argue and prance off and do a pirouette on the other side of the stage next to Liam, but Harry sits down and stretches his legs in front of him. 

Liam rounds off the next verse with Louis filling in the harmonies, and then the music continues on and Harry doesn't come in. Harry doesn't even not come in. 

Zayn turns so quickly his neck screams in protest but he ignores it because though the rest of them are up in the middle of the catwalk, he can see where Harry is now on his back, not moving. He feels the ice run beneath his skin and he nearly trips breaking into a run. The crowd goes oddly silent, confused as the band cuts off the song, and then suddenly the silence turns to screams that rush with the blood in Zayn's ears. He makes it to Harry first, before Paul and the rest of their immediate security team or the other boys can. 

Harry's still, eyes closed with his microphone dropped beside him next to a lax hand. His usual bubblegum lips are nearly white, slightly parted as they are when he's asleep. 

"Harry, fucking hell," Zayn chokes out, all but crashing onto the riser. 

"Zayn, move back," Paul says calmly despite the tremor laced in his voice, carefully picking up Harry's wrist to check for his pulse. 

Zayn ignores him, but doesn't touch Harry, knows he shouldn't, even though all he wants to do is cling to him desperately and beg him to wake up and just tell him what happened, what's wrong, because this shouldn't be happening. Harry shouldn't have fainted, Zayn should have been watching him, and then suddenly his face feels hot and there's a pair of arms tugging him back into a strong chest. He can tell he's sobbing, but he doesn't feel it, barely registers Liam wrapping him up in his arms and cradling him as the medics make it to the stage with a gurney. There's always an ambulance on stand-by for first aid of any of the fans who get overwhelmed by the heat, or the crowd, but Zayn wouldn't have ever thought one of his own would be the one in need of their services. 

"He's been a little sluggish the past few weeks, but it's tour," Paul is telling the paramedic who is now checking Harry's pulse again, blood pressure cuff being strapped onto his arm whilst the other medic puts a brace on his neck, just in case. 

Zayn's stomach plummets because he knows Harry is going to hate him later, but the medics need to know, they need to help -

"Paul. Paul," he says quietly, then more loudly to get the older man's attention from where he's focused on Harry. They're all focused on Harry, Niall and Louis tangled in one another searching for physical comfort whilst they stare at the scene before them, Liam with his nose pressed into Zayn's shoulder where there standing back to front, the rest of their security team forming a protective shield around them to block the cameras. Fucking camera phones. 

Paul's head snaps up and it takes him a moment to pick Zayn's face out in the people surrounding them as Harry is lifted onto the gurney, oxygen mask now pressed over his nose and mouth. 

"What is it, lad?" 

Zayn jerks his head, beckons him in as close as possible and Paul obliges.

"He had an abortion. Last night," Zayn whispers hurriedly, trying not to choke on the disgusting mix of phlegm and bile that's taken residence in his throat. "He said he was fine, but -"

He breaks off, feels Liam go rigid behind him, sees Paul's eyes widen. And then Paul is chasing after the medics to catch them and relay the information, leaving Zayn to stand numb.


End file.
